


Sin with your mouth shut

by notallbees



Series: A little tenderness [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1930s, Bucky is a hopeless individual, Dom Steve Rogers, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Religion, Religious Conflict, Rough Oral Sex, Sub Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/pseuds/notallbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>If he could put a date to it, if that were even possible, Bucky would say that this thing between them had started just after Steve's ma passed away.</em>
</p><p>Bucky never gave a thought to the wrong or right of having sinful thoughts about other boys, not until Steve went to confession with his old priest. Now he can't <em>stop</em> thinking about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sin with your mouth shut

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel to the fics in the ['skinny!Steve doing things to Bucky](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/tagged/skinny%21steve-doing-things-to-bucky) verse, which I will be uploading soon :D

If he could put a date to it, if that were even possible, Bucky would say that this thing between them had started just after Steve's ma passed away. Really, something had been building up much longer than that, and there were the times they'd fooled around as kids, but that hardly counted. 

It wasn't until Mrs. Rogers was two days in the ground that Steve gave up. He'd carried her through the long months of her illness with a stoicism that had broken Bucky's heart to watch, and he'd never once been cowed by it, not that Bucky had seen. 

Bucky could tell something was wrong the minute he got home—he'd been staying with Steve since the funeral, despite Steve's protests—but he didn't ask right away. That was the quickest way to get the cold shoulder for the rest of the night, and as it was they were sharing Steve's bed, neither of them ready to disturb Mrs. Rogers' old things yet. Bucky didn't want Steve ignoring him or, worse, elbowing him all night. Best to tread carefully.

"Evenin', Rogers."

Steve was sitting on the couch, paging through an old, cracked photo album without really seeing it. Bucky could tell he was drifting by the way he hadn't shoved it out of sight before Bucky got in the door. 

"Stevie," he said sharply. "You okay?"

"Fine," Steve muttered. To Bucky's surprise, he didn't push the album away or try to hide it. Instead, he just kept turning the pages slowly, his eyes fixed and glazed. 

Bucky pulled off his shoes and jacket, then walked around behind the couch to lean over Steve's shoulder. "Your ma's wedding pictures?"

Steve nodded. "They married in Hell's Kitchen, you know. Used to live there when I was tiny. I went by today."

"Had a word with the priest, did you?" Bucky said, resting one hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezing gently.

"Ma used to take me back sometimes," Steve said quietly. "Said it was like going home, like going back to my da." He was quiet for a long moment, and Bucky searched through the shreds of his sleepy mind for something comforting to say. Steve beat him to it. "I thought it would be like it used to," Steve said, sounding wretched. "Like visiting old friends."

Bucky leaned closer, wrapping his arms around Steve from behind. "What happened, kiddo?" 

Steve shook his head. He brought his hands up to hold onto Bucky's arms, the photo album forgotten. "They pity me, you know. At church."

"The hell're you gabbin’ about now?"

"They _do_ ," Steve grumbled. "Acting like Ma was some kind of martyr for not giving me up, praying for my lungs while thanking God it's me and not their own boys."

Bucky's arms tightened around him instinctively. "You ignore them, Steve. They're all talking shit."

"I thought that," Steve muttered in a shaky voice. "I did. I thought, maybe. Maybe if I went back, to where they knew me as a baby, then maybe they wouldn't look at me and see a cripple."

"What happened," Bucky asked through gritted teeth. 

“My pa was an altar boy there, you know.”

Bucky scowled. “What. Happened.”

Steve hung his head. "I went in for confession. Face to face, with Father Gilbert. He baptized me." Steve took in a deep, shuddering breath. "I thought maybe he'd understand."

Bucky gave up on bending awkwardly over the couch, and went around to kneel in front of Steve instead. "Hey," he said, cupping his hands around Steve's cheeks. "Understand what, Rogers?"

Steve wouldn't meet his eyes, and Bucky started to feel sick with anxiety. 

“Stevie,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone. “What’ve you been up to?”

He watched the heavy bob of Steve’s throat as he swallowed anxiously. His eyes were downcast, fixed on his lap, looking anywhere but at Bucky. His eyelashes flickered softly, catching the glint of evening sunlight. 

“I have sinful thoughts,” Steve croaked, his voice so soft that Bucky could barely hear him.

“Well, who doesn’t?” Bucky teased gently. “I have ‘em all day long.”

Steve’s face crumpled, his pointy features seizing up into a scowl. “No, Bucky,” he said wretchedly. “Men. I have sinful thoughts about men.”

Without meaning to, Bucky pulled his hands back and leaned away a little. He knew, instantly, that it was the wrong thing to do. Steve went pale and his face twisted miserably, seeming to shrink even smaller as he curled in on himself. 

"You see?" he whispered. "Even _you_ can't stand me." He turned away from Bucky.

"That's shit, Rogers, and you know it," Bucky growled, but he was stalling, rocking on his heels while he wracked his brain. He licked his bottom lip absently. "Who're these fellas turning your head then? Gimme names, Steve, I'll bust their dumb mugs for lookin’ at my friend like that."

Abruptly Steve got to his feet, kicking Bucky aside and not seeming to care when his mother's photo album thudded to the floor. "Christ, Bucky," he said with an air of distaste. "You ain't got the sense God gave a clam."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped, but Steve was already walking off towards the bedroom. "Steve!"

"Get out of my house, Barnes," Steve hissed over his shoulder. "I don't wanna look at you either."

"Aw, Steve, come on." Bucky's voice was exasperated, which wasn't exactly unusual for a conversation with Steve, but probably wasn't gonna get them anywhere. "Stevie, I never said that—"

Steve turned and glared at him, "You didn't need to," he said. His voice shook slightly, but he gave no other sign that he cared at all. "Now get out."

 

 

They'd had some explosive fights in their time, but those were easily solved. More easily than this at any rate. Bucky went around to call on Steve the next morning with a pie from his ma, expecting Steve would be better after a night's rest, but nobody answered when he kept on knocking. After ten minutes of banging and shouting for Steve he started to get anxious, but a door upstairs opened at that moment.

"He ain't there, Barnes! Clear out before I call the sergeant!" 

It was Ruby, the old doll living on the fourth floor who saw lady suitors. She and Mrs. Rogers had been friends of a sort, and she doted on Steve, so it was hardly a surprise to find her covering for him now.

"Where is he, Ruby?" he asked, starting up the stairs. 

"He doesn't wanna see you."

Bucky groaned. "My ma sent him over a pie!"

This produced a thoughtful silence. And, eventually, "We'll take the pie."

Bucky rolled his eyes as he stepped up onto the landing where Ruby stood, holding the door open two inches with a menacing look on her face. She was beautiful, in a kind of fearsome way, a little younger than Mrs. Rogers had been, but much too old for him and Steve still. 

"He in there with you?" 

"That don't concern you, Bucky."

"Steve!" he yelled. "Steve, it's Bucky! I'm sorry, alright? Please don't be sore at me."

"The fuss you boys make," Ruby muttered, pulling open the door a little farther so that she could reach for the pie. "He'll take your ma's kindness 'cause his own ma brought him up right, but he don't wanna see you around here." She snatched the pie out of Bucky's hands and pushed the door to just a crack again. "And neither do I."

With that, the door slammed shut. Bucky tried knocking once, but it got him only silence. A couple of people had come to their own doors to see what all the commotion was, and Bucky snarled at them to mind their own business before stalking back down the stairs. 

 

 

For a week they didn't say a word to one another. Bucky didn't go back to Steve's apartment, not with the threat of Ruby and her brother's baseball bat, but after a week his ma was so sick of him moping around at home that she threw him out for good. 

"You talk that boy into taking you back, Jimmy, or so help me."

Bucky spent the first night on the floor of his dad's office, where he worked four days a week as a clerk. After Ruby had sent him away, Bucky hadn't been able to stop thinking about what Steve had told him. 

He just couldn't help wondering what kind of thoughts Steve had been talking about. Everyone thought about that kind of thing when they were younger, after all. Mrs. Rogers had told him it was normal, and growing up around Brooklyn Heights, it was hard to miss that plenty of guys and girls liked to fool around with their own kind. Bucky had never thought much of it. 

True, he hadn't thought much about Steve in that way either, but clearly someone had been. Ask Bucky, they were crazy to even try; Steve was mean and stubborn enough even without feeling bad about what he was doing. Bucky could only imagine what a mule he'd be about sinning so hard. 

It took him so long to fall asleep on the hardwood floor, his mind chased up and down thinking about Steve, that he was still dozing the next morning when Marnie, his pa's secretary, arrived to open up for the day. 

He scrambled up from the floor, seizing his blankets around him like a suit of armor, not that it stopped Marnie from catching an eyeful. 

"Bucky!" she shrieked, covering her eyes. "What on God's green earth do you think you're doing?"

"Marnie!" he hissed, trying to hide behind the desk. "For Christ's sake, keep your voice down!" 

"Ooh, I'll tell your mother on you, James Barnes," she said, sounding scandalized and delighted all at once. "Exposing yourself to young ladies!"

"Aw, come on," Bucky whined. "I ain't even naked, and you oughta think yourself lucky to catch a free show like this."

She huffed at him and turned around, marching back out of the office and snapping the door shut behind her. Cursing her under his breath, Bucky struggled into his pants and rumpled shirt, and hurriedly fastened on a tie. 

A few minutes later there was a knock on the office door, and then his father's voice from the other side.

"Jimmy? Are you decent?"

Bucky swore again. "Yeah, Dad!"

His pa stepped inside, looking stern and a little bewildered. "Jim, Marnie says you were trying to expose yourself to her."

"Christ, I just--" 

He stopped abruptly because his pa clipped him soundly around the ear. "Watch your language in my office, Sonny."

Bucky winced and rubbed his ear. "Sorry, Pa. I wasn't doin' anything wrong though, I swear. Steve wouldn't see me, and I had nowhere else to sleep so I stayed here." He hung his head. "I'm sorry, and I'm sorry to Marnie too."

"Well, that one you can deliver yourself," his pa said, clapping him on the shoulder. "But find yourself somewhere else to sleep, alright? You boys are too old for this playground nonsense, and Steve's been through a lot. He needs you there, not flashing your johnson at my employees."

Bucky flushed furiously. "I wasn't!"

His dad chuckled. "I'm pulling your leg, kiddo. Now get yourself straightened up, and I'll tell Marnie it's safe to come inside."

The rest of the morning was a haze of paperwork and suspicious glances, as Bucky tried to bury himself in his work and ignore the smug looks from Marnie, the two other clerks, and Angelica who worked across the hall. He did his best to ignore them, but Marnie and Angelica had voices made for shouting across dance halls, while Dermot and Geoffrey didn't even bother pretending to keep quiet when they talked about him. They were worse than the girls, because they seemed to think that Bucky had done it on purpose, and they were hell bent on letting him know what a genius he was for coming up with it. 

By late morning, Bucky was sick of the lot of them, but luckily his dad sent Dermot and Geoffrey out on errands, casting a sympathetic look at Bucky as he chivvied them out the door, and then glared at Angelica until she went back to her job. 

It was blissfully quiet with them all gone. Bucky's pa gave him a significant glance, jerking his head in Marnie's direction before ducking back into his office and shutting the door.

"Marnie?" Bucky said, raising his head. Marnie went on typing, but she made a high, intrigued noise for him to go on. "About this morning, I'm real sorry. It _was_ an accident."

Marnie's typing slowed and she giggled. "C'mon, Bucky, I know that. Don't get your panties twisted up over it."

Bucky laughed in relief. "Okay, good. So maybe you could not tell too many people?"

Marnie just smirked. Sighing, Bucky went back to his work, thinking hard about how he was going to patch things up with Steve. 

"Hey, Marnie," he said after a few minutes, and the typing slowed once more. Bucky got up and sauntered over to her desk. "Listen, sweetheart. Can I ask something? Like a hypothetical?"

"This better be good, Bucky."

"Say a friend—just a friend, maybe a girlfriend—say she was worried that you never seem to get a date and she wanted to cheer you up."

Her eyes narrowed. "Thin ice, Bucky."

"I ain't talking about you, now listen. Say maybe you're feeling low about it, would you think it strange if your friend took you on a date? You know," he said, gesturing vaguely. "Dinner, flowers, that kinda thing."

Marnie preened. "I think I'd like that, Bucky," she said, a little flushed. 

Bucky nodded, encouraged. "And you don't think it'd be strange?" he said excitedly. "Coming from a friend like that?"

"I think it's the sweetest thing I ever heard, Bucky," she said in a saccharine voice. "And besides, friends don't mean you have to stay just friends, does it?"

Bucky's eyes widened as the implications as her words crashed over him. "I guess not," he said quietly. 

"Oh, Bucky, You ain't half as bad as all your girlfriends say," Marnie cooed, jumping to her feet and throwing her arms around his neck. She kissed him on the cheek and pulled back, giggling. "I can't do a Tuesday, but I might be free on Thursday if you cared to ask."

Bucky stared at her. "Ask—" 

She looked back at him with a patient, adoring gaze.

"Oh ask, sure," he said in a breezy voice. "I just gotta make some arrangements, you know?" 

Marnie grinned. "Arrangements, huh?" 

He nodded, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he tried to think up an excuse. "I gotta—check with my Pa. He wants me doing some overtime, that's all."

"Alright, well, you know where I am." She pulled away and went back to her desk. "But don't wait too long, Bucky, or I might change my mind and tell someone where you've been sleeping."

Bucky forced a smile. "Believe me, I don't wanna miss out."

 

 

Bucky hurried home when he got his lunch break to pick up some more clothes, and when he got back to the office, Marnie handed him a missive slip.

"A message for me?" he said, frowning. He wasn't important enough in the company to have many messages left for him. For a moment, he felt a thrill of excitement, until he saw what it was and who had left it. "Wait," he said, "Steve was here?"

Marnie sniffed. "Just for a minute, he came right after you went for your break."

Bucky sat down heavily at his desk. Steve's message was brief, and it seemed briefer still in Marnie's crisp handwriting. 

_Ruby baked a cake. I'll be home around five._

It was just like Steve to offer an apology without actually making one at all; just like him to invite Bucky for supper without saying any of the words to make it so. Torn between hope and irritation, Bucky ripped up the note and brushed the pieces into his desk drawer. He'd already agreed to a drink after work with the Macallen boys across the hall, because he owed them a round from the week before. They were a little older than Bucky, but he'd known them for years; he used to run errands for their uncle, around the time the boys had started working in his shipping office. 

Steve didn't like them much, and the Macallens liked Steve even less. For that matter, a lot of Bucky's pals didn't like Steve that much. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Steve had gone toe to toe with most of them at least once.

He was restless for the rest of the day, out of his seat as soon as the day ended to go knock on the door to Macallen Shipping. As he stood waiting, his dad left the office behind him, and paused to lay a hand on his shoulder. 

"Little distracted today, Jim?"

Bucky nodded. "Yessir, I'm sorry."

"Never mind, just make sure you're rested for tomorrow." Bucky nodded again, and his dad smiled kindly. "You comin' home for dinner?"

"Said I'd drop in on Steve," Bucky said, finding that he was strangely nervous even just talking about it. 

"Well, your ma will be pleased to hear it," his dad said quietly. 

Bucky winced. "We ain't made up _yet_."

His dad squeezed his shoulder, but the door to Macallen's office finally opened, so he didn't say any more but mutter a goodbye to Bucky, and a stiff greeting to Benny Macallen. Bucky's folks weren't a big fan of the boys either.

"Barnes," Benny said, grinning at him. "You ready to have some fun?"

"You know me," Bucky said with a shrug and a wild grin. "I'd never say no to that, but there's somewhere I gotta be tonight."

Benny slung an arm around his shoulders, starting to lead him down the hall, and Bucky couldn't tell if he hadn't heard or was pretending, but Benny just carried on as if he hadn't spoken.

"Donny's waiting down there already," he said, giving Bucky an eager shake. "He snuck out to rustle up some company."

"And you'll try and stick me with the homely one again I'm sure," Bucky said, rolling his eyes as he played along. 

Benny chortled before finally releasing him. It was a blessing, and not only because Bucky didn't fancy walking doubles down the stairs. Benny Macallen spent all day going back and forth between the office and the docks for his uncle, and his shirt was always rank by the end of the day. Bucky didn't much like being tucked up under one of his rancid armpits if he could avoid it. 

"Shoot, I just remembered," Bucky said when they reached the street, making like it had just dropped into his head. "I gotta visit Steve."

Benny snorted derisively. "Rogers? I don't get why you still waste your time with that shrimp."

"We're friends," Bucky said, bristling. "Besides, he's sick, and his ma just passed."

"Ah, hell," Benny muttered, looking down at his feet. Not even the Mcallens would say a mean word about a kid who'd just become an orphan. "I didn't know."

That seemed a little unlikely to Bucky, considering that half the neighborhood had known Mrs Rogers, and the rest had at least heard of her. Half the reason Steve still had a place to live was thanks to her memory, not to mention that the threat of her wrath had saved him from many more severe beatings, letting him off instead with a black eye or a bloody nose.

"But give Donald my best," Bucky said, pulling back before socking Benny in the shoulder. It probably wouldn't bruise, but it would hurt. Sure enough Benny winced, but he shook it off quickly with a grimace that was trying to be a smile. 

"I'll pass on the message," Benny said, rubbing his shoulder. "You owe me though."

Bucky nodded. "I'm buying next week."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Cross my heart."

 

 

Bucky stopped to fuss with his hair when he caught his reflection in the window of the bakery a block from Steve's apartment. He'd changed again before leaving the office, eager to be fresh from work, but as he squinted at the poor reflection, he realized that he just looked silly and overdressed, like he'd got all gussied up for a big date. 

He had to swallow down his nerves when he let himself into Steve's building. It made no sense to be anxious, not with Steve, but a part of Bucky was afraid that, this time, they wouldn't be able to fix it. The walk up to second floor made him sweat. He planned to wait for a minute before knocking, to get himself together, but Steve must have been waiting because the door swung open as Bucky drew level with it.

"Stevie," Bucky said, his voice caught on an inhale. Steve looked awful, as if he hadn't slept in a week. If it weren't for Ruby, Bucky would suspect he hadn't been eating either. Still, tired and pale or not, the sight of him brought a smile to Bucky's face. "You look like shit, pal."

Steve snickered. He still had his hand on the edge of the door, blocking the way with his slight frame. "That all you got to say to me, Barnes?"

Bucky tilted his head for a moment, as if he was considering that. "Yeah," he said at last. "For now."

Steve rolled his eyes. "C'mon in then, quit cluttering up the place." 

He moved aside just enough to let Bucky pass, issuing a challenge to see how close Bucky would get to him. Bucky wasn't used to Steve testing his friendship, but if that was what he needed, it's the least Bucky could give him. He stepped inside, trying not to look as if he was aware of how close they were, but after a week of the silent treatment, it was a comfort to let his hand brush Steve's. If he was braver, if the door was already shut, he'd grab hold of Steve's hand and squeeze it, maybe pull him into his arms, but the moment passed and Steve walked away from him. 

"You want some coffee?" Steve offered in a nonchalant tone that meant he had enough for one cup and he'd been saving it for a guest. Always keeping up appearances. 

"Just water," Bucky said, going to sprawl in one of the kitchen chairs. 

Steve eyed him from across the room. "You got plans later?"

"Oh, naw," Bucky said, overly casual as he reached up to loosen his tie. "I was supposed to get a drink with Don and Benny, they were talking some guff about having a girl for me to meet." 

"A girl, huh?" Steve teased. "Then what're you doing here?" 

Bucky snorted. "I ain't interested in girls, Rogers, I'm here to see you." 

Steve shrugged and made a dismissive sound. "Sure, until you lose your head over Chrissie again, or is it Jennifer this week?"

"I don't lose my head," Bucky said indignantly. Steve just looked at him. "You name one dame I lost my head over, Rogers, and you can have everything in my pocket."

"Two dimes and a stick of gum?" Steve said mockingly. "I wouldn't wanna put you out."

The chair creaked when Bucky tipped it back on two legs, folding his hands behind his head and looking smug. "See, I knew you couldn't name any names."

Steve was quiet a whole minute, then he pulled out the other chair and sat down. He pushed a glass of water over to Bucky. 

"I'm sorry, Buck," he said, his voice low but clear. "What I said last week—just forget about it. I wasn't thinking straight."

Bucky's chair legs hit the floor with a crash. "You don't have to—"

"Please," Steve muttered, still not meeting Bucky's eyes. 

With a frown, Bucky pushed the glass aside and leaned over towards Steve, resting his elbows on the tabletop. "Steve, I'll do what you want, if you really want me to, but first you gotta let me say something."

For a moment, Steve looked like he might argue. He pressed his lips into a flat, pale line, his eyebrows crumpling in towards each other. At last, he nodded. 

"Good," Bucky said. He looked down at the tabletop and traced the whorls in the slab of wood with his pointer finger. "I, uh." He frowned. "See, I was thinking about what you said—and, uh—" 

Far too late, Bucky realized that he should have planned what he would say long before he got here. He'd been so excited at the thought of working things out with Steve that he hadn't considered yet how he was gonna do it.

"Spit it out." Steve's voice was mean and impatient, but a quick glance at his face told Bucky that Steve was just nervous, and trying not to show it.

"All that stuff about sinning," Bucky said, staring down at the patterns in the table again. "Sinful thoughts and that."

"Bucky—"

"Listen to me, God damn it," Bucky said in a low growl, curling his hand into a fist as he raised his eyes to Steve. "Just for one minute, Rogers, shut your hole, okay?"

Steve looked away with a twisted expression, but he nodded. 

"I don't care what kind of sinning you do, Stevie," Bucky said quietly. "You got that? You're my best pal, no matter what."

Steve shook his head quickly, and Bucky reached over to grab his hand. 

"Yeah, Steve, I mean it."

"You're an idiot," Steve muttered, finally looking at him. To Bucky's horror, he looked a little like he might start crying. "I'm sorry I got sore at you," Steve said, his voice thick with emotion.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I'm used to _that_ , sport."

Steve grinned at him somewhat sheepishly, and Bucky reached up with his free hand to ruffle Steve's hair, earning himself a scowl. "Aw, Buck, c'mon," Steve whined, pulling his hands free of Bucky's so that he could smooth his hair back into place. "Ain't your kid brother."

"Good, 'cause I hear it ain't the done thing to take your brother on a date."

"Huh?" Steve stared at him. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Bucky shrugged and leaned back in his chair again. "Thought it might cheer you up, you know? Go out, have a couple of drinks, just the two of us. No trying to impress anyone else." He bounced his weight in the chair and tried to read Steve's expression, which gave away nothing beyond the crease of confusion between his eyebrows. Bucky licked his bottom lip and went for broke. "Maybe see a movie, if you like." 

Thing is, Bucky hadn't thought about a movie until he said it, but once he did, it seemed like the best idea in the world to find a quiet theater, somewhere he could slip his arm around Steve's shoulders in the dark and nobody would see. For a moment he was bowled over by the mental image of Steve's head tucked against his chest, the smell of his hair in Bucky's nose. 

"Oh, sure," Steve said, somewhat warily, bringing Bucky out of his daydream. "I guess we haven't been out in a while."

"Don't worry, kiddo, I'll have you home by midnight," Bucky said with a wink. 

Steve didn't look impressed, but then Bucky had known this would be a harder sell than it was with the girls he took out on a night. 

 

 

Two nights later—two nights of sleeping on the floor behind his desk, but his mom would change his mind and let him back eventually, Bucky knew she was a soft touch really—he showed up on Steve's doorstep dressed to the nines again, this time with a bunch of daisies. 

Steve opened the door in his ragged bathrobe and sneezed. 

"Damn," he mumbled, tugging a pocket square out of his sleeve and smothering his face with it, so that the rest of his words came out muffled. "Did we say Friday?"

Bucky scowled at him. "Hell, Rogers, what now?" he asked, reaching out instinctively to check Steve's temperature.

It was testament to how ill Steve was that he didn't even complain, just stood swaying and frowning at Bucky with hazy eyes. "Who're the blooms for?" Steve asked, slurring a little. He tipped forwards without seeming to realize it, his weight leaning slowly more and more on Bucky. "You set up a double date?"

"Something like that," Bucky muttered. He tugged Steve's arm up around his neck and walked him back into the apartment. Steve's work clothes lay abandoned on the floor, his shoes kicked aside. Bucky swore. "Tell me you ain't been at the office in this state."

Steve huffed, foul sickly breath skipping over Bucky's neck. "I don't got a reason to be at home anymore."

"You do if you're sick, sport," Bucky said, but without any heat to it. "C'mon, let's get you to bed. You eaten today?"

"Not hungry."

Bucky groaned. 

It took him a little coaxing and arguing, but he managed to get Steve into bed, bathrobe and all. If Bucky was any judge, which he oughta be by now, Steve had a fever, but with any luck that might be all it was. If he could keep Steve wrapped up for a couple of days and get his temperature down, he might be fine again by Monday morning. 

The kitchen cupboards didn't offer much inspiration, but Bucky did at least stumble across some aspirin in Mrs Rogers' old nurse's kit, which he force fed to Steve along with a big glass of water and a couple of stale crackers. 

"I'm gonna run home and get my things, alright?" Bucky told a sleepy looking Steve. "Rogers, you listening?"

Steve shrugged with one shoulder, but he was already drifting, and Bucky let himself out quietly. The corner store a few blocks away usually opened a little later on a Friday night, and sure enough they were just about open still when Bucky made it there, red in the face from running. He managed to get a good deal on some battered looking vegetables, which would do fine for a stew to put the color back in Steve's cheeks. It wasn't far to his dad's office, where he grabbed his spare clothes and everything, bundling them up in his blanket, before hurrying back. 

Steve was dozing fitfully when Bucky got back to the pokey apartment, letting himself in with the spare key. It was impossible to cook quietly, and the more he tried to do so, the more noise he seemed to make, but if Steve was bothered by it, he didn't speak up. While the stew was bubbling, Bucky washed the stack of dishes and tidied up the living room. The place was even messier than usual, and Bucky found out why when he spotted the door to Mrs Rogers' old room standing ajar.

Apparently Steve had started clearing out her things, what little there was of them. Everything had been folded and packed away into a couple of boxes, but spread out on the bed was a half finished patchwork quilt. It looked to be made of patches of old clothes and rags, and there was a workbag full of scraps waiting to be pieced. Looking at it made Bucky feel a little sick with grief, and he could only imagine how Steve must have been feeling, going through Sarah's old things. Maybe he'd even made himself sick with it. 

Feeling wretched, Bucky closed the door and went to ladle up some stew into a bowl. Steve rolled over and blinked at him muzzily. 

"Buck," he croaked. "What're you doin' here?"

"Charity work," Bucky answered shortly, clambering up onto the bed. "Here, you wanna get this down you."

With a mix of sweet talk and empty threats, Bucky got Steve to eat his supper, even if he whined the whole time about not wanting to be fed like a baby. 

"You don't wanna be treated like one, don't act like one," Bucky muttered crossly.

Steve did look a little better once he'd eaten. There was some color in his cheeks and his eyes didn't look so flat and dull as they had before. Plus it helped that he had a scowl fixed in place. If anything could make him look just like his old self, it was for him to be scowling at Bucky. 

"You ain't gotta nurse me."

"Well maybe I like to do it."

Steve snorted. "You don't. You hate it."

"Only 'cause my patient's an idiot," he shot back, grinning. "Wouldn't mind nursing a pretty dame."

Rolling his eyes, Steve slumped back into the pillows. "She ain't gonna look so pretty with her hair all sweaty and dirty, and circles under her eyes where she can't sleep."

"Good point," Bucky said, shrugging. "Still better than your ugly mug." Steve laughed softly, aiming a lazy kick at him through the blankets. Bucky waited out the comfortable silence for a moment. "Say, I saw that quilt your ma was making for you."

"Yeah," Steve murmured in a soft, beaten voice.

Bucky bit his lip. "Maybe we could finish it?"

Steve looked over at him curiously, and held his gaze on Bucky for a long moment. It seemed as if he were searching for something in Bucky's expression, but it was impossible to tell whether or not he found what he was looking for. "Maybe," Steve said at last, tucking his face into the pillow. "Maybe we could."

 

 

There was a crick in Bucky's neck the next morning, but that was to be expected from sleeping on the floor. He'd dragged the couch cushions into Steve's bedroom, although it had proved to be a stupid idea when Steve stood on him in the middle of the night trying to find the piss pot, and they both spent five minutes cursing each other in furious whispers. Steve was still snoring faintly when Bucky rolled out of his tangle of sheets and went along the hall to use the bathroom, empty the pot and brush his teeth. 

When he got back, Steve was standing at the stove, and he looked round sheepishly when he heard Bucky come in. 

"Sorry for wrecking your date," he said in a quiet voice. "You didn't need to stay, I'm fine now."

"Don't be stupid." Bucky slung an arm around his shoulders, using the motion to get a hand on Steve's forehead to check his temperature.

"I know what you're doin'," Steve said in a grumpy voice, but he didn't pull away or jab Bucky with a sharp elbow, so Bucky just pulled him closer and hugged him. Steve smelled a little rancid from being ill, and he was stiff and angular in Bucky's arms, but just for a moment he relaxed back into it and Bucky smiled like the sun had come out.

"Y'wanna move in, you could just say," Steve said at last, pulling away. He moved the pan of coffee off the heat and turned to look at Bucky. "No need to stage all this."

Bucky sputtered for a moment without a response, then he got a hold of himself and shook his head. "Right, Rogers, because _I_ got you sick. All part of my cunning plan to spend my whole weekend watching you sneeze and sweat on me." 

"I knew it."

"God, you're impossible."

"Go if you wanna," Steve said dismissively. "I'll be fine."

"Nah," Bucky said, going over to the table and taking a seat in one of the unforgiving kitchen chairs. "Ma kicked me out anyway, I got nowhere to be but here."

Steve turned away from him, his shoulders a hard, tense line. "That's too bad."

Something in his tone felt off, and Bucky's stomach dropped. "But I'll go if you don't want me here. I can stay with the Macallens maybe, or Jimmy Moran."

"No, no," Steve said, sighing. "Stay as long as you want. I'm almost done clearing out Ma's things, you can have her room."

"You sure?"

Steve shrugged and started to pour the coffee out into two cups. "Can't afford to leave a room empty forever." He passed a cup over and sat down in an empty chair, his shoulders tense and crooked. 

"I dunno," Bucky murmured, staring into his sludgy coffee. "You don't think that might make things kinda difficult?"

"Difficult for who?" Steve snarled, claws coming out at last. "I ain't asking for no charity, Barnes, so don't feel bad if you can't give it."

"That ain't what I meant," Bucky said, eyes widening. "Christ, you're a fool. I mean 'cause of last night."

The sun wasn't shining full into the apartment and the mix of light and dark made the crease of Steve's brow look more severe. "Last night?" he said, slow and uncertain. Then his face fell. "Right, your date." He glanced over at the posey that Bucky had tried to arrange in an old water pitcher. The flowers looked out of place in the gloomy apartment, their brightness unwelcome. 

"Our date," Bucky said quietly, but Steve snorted.

"Right, like any dame you talk to would even so much as look at me," he muttered, but it felt rote, his bitterness exaggerated by the night of poor sleep. 

"I wasn't going with any dame last night, Rogers, was I?" Bucky snapped, losing his rag. "I picked your stupid mug instead."

Steve glanced over at the daisies, then back at Bucky. "Buck, who were those for?"

Bucky blushed and looked away from him. "It don't matter."

"They're for me?" he pressed, leaning forward over his coffee cup. The steam curled up around his throat. When Bucky didn't answer, Steve must've figured he'd got his answer, because he gasped a little under his breath and ducked his head. "Oh," he whispered through gritted teeth. 

For a minute Steve said nothing, while Bucky was paralyzed. It had seemed easier in his head last night, before he arrived at Steve's place and the whole plan went out of his head.

"Don't do that," Steve muttered at last, and Bucky was shocked to hear that his voice was full of ire, his knuckles white where he held onto his coffee. "You got no right," Steve went on, voice shaking with rage. "I didn't tell you that just so—so you could kid around with me about it, or treat me like a fairy."

"Steve—"

"I ain't gonna drop my drawers for you when you can't get a girl, so don't waste your time trying to sweet talk me."

Bucky slammed his palm on the table. "Steve, the hell are you talking about?"

Steve jumped to his feet, yelling, "You watch your mouth at my mama's table, James Barnes!" 

"Watch your own!" Bucky yelled back, shoving his chair away with a screech on the floorboards. "Christ, you think I'm—" He took a step back, pushing his fingers through his hair. "You think I wanna—what, come crawling in after a date and climb on top'a you like a fuckin' dog?"

Steve blushed furiously right down his neck. "Look, Bucky,” he said, more quietly but still simmering with tension. “We're friends, but that don't always make a difference when a guy thinks he can take what he wants just 'cause I ain't a full portion."

Heat burned Bucky’s cheeks. “Who’s been tryin’ it?”

“Forget it,” Steve said, suddenly cold. He started to turn away, but Bucky stepped around the table to grab his wrist. “I said forget it!”

“It’s someone I know, ain’t it?” Bucky growled. “Someone put the moves on you?”

“Mary ‘n Joseph,” Steve hissed, shaking him off. “You’re a terrier with a rat, let it _go_.”

Apparently summoning all his strength, Steve set his hands on Bucky’s chest and shoved hard. Bucky was caught off guard, and as he tried to get his feet under him, one ankle caught on a chair leg and he slipped right onto his ass, thunking his elbow off the side of the bathtub. The little apartment spun past him and he found himself halfway on his back, looking at Steve’s bare calves under his threadbare robe. For a moment after he landed, Bucky just sat on the floor, staring up at Steve in surprise. 

“You okay?” Steve asked in a cursory tone, tilting his head and trying to look as if he didn’t care. “You look okay.” He leaned closer with a considering look. “You ain’t bleedin’.”

Bucky shook his head and started to push himself up. “‘m fine.” He got to his knees. He’d whacked his arm and his ass good on the way down, and he paused to grab at his elbow with a groan. “You’ve got one hell of a temper, Rogers.”

Pain seized through his scalp suddenly. Bucky yelped loudly, looking up to find Steve had fisted his hand in Bucky’s hair. 

“Steve—”

Steve yanked his head back, forcing him to arch his back, and Bucky yelped again.

“Keep your mouth shut,” Steve said in a low, threatening voice. 

Bucky’s eyes widened, staring up at Steve’s shadowed eyes, the flush still hot on his cheeks. He nodded slightly, what little he could move it with Steve still grabbing his hair tight. He was used to hearing all kinds of shit come out of Steve's mouth, but this stern, authoritative tone was rare, and it spread through him like blood in water. 

"You're tellin' me you don't wanna mess around with me?" Steve asked, giving Bucky a shake. "Tell me, I wanna hear it."

Bucky grunted. "Ain't sayin' that," he mumbled. "Ain't a liar."

Steve shook his head and pushed Bucky away with a disgusted noise. "Then don't play those goddamn games with me, Barnes." He turned away. "I want you out of here for good."

"You piece of shit," Bucky said, his voice breaking open on the words to reveal something small and pathetic inside. "Wanting a thing don't make it wrong, I told you that. Just because I want you don't mean I'd ever do it, not if you didn't want it." He crawled forward a few feet. Somehow it didn't occur to him to get off his knees. "Steve," he said, weakly. "Stevie, c'mon. We can be friends like before. You always were the best at make believe, you can pretend I never said anything."

He reached out to touch Steve's right calf, and found that Steve was shaking. 

"You don't mean it," Steve said, so quietly that Bucky almost missed it. 

"I do," Bucky insisted, slipping his fingers up to stroke Steve's bony knee. 

Steve pulled away, but he didn't go far, just turned around and pushed his fingers into Bucky's hair again. He was gentle this time, stroking the dirty curls off Bucky's forehead. 

Bucky shuffled forward on his knees and pressed his face into Steve's hip, finding the sharp nub of his hip bone with his cheek. Steve's breathing got a little harsher, and his fingers tightened in Bucky's hair again, though not like before. It was more like the time he'd been necking with Yvonne Tyler and she'd moved his hands up under her skirt and pressed his fingers in to feel that she was wet through her panties, while the fingers of her other hand had clutched at his shoulder. It was a little like when he'd been kissing Eliza March and she'd grabbed his head and pushed his face between her tits. It was _lustful_ , and Bucky could barely stand it. 

"Stevie?" he whispered, looking up across Steve's flat belly to his pink cheeks. Steve's robe had come loose, just a little and Bucky took a chance and reached up to loosen it all the way. 

With a startled gasp, Steve grabbed Bucky's shoulder with his free hand and pushed Bucky's face right into his crotch. Bucky got a mouthful of Steve's sweaty drawers that he'd been wearing since yesterday, the smell of Steve's sickly sweat filling his nose and throat, and beneath it, the weight of warm flesh begging for him. 

Bucky had never gone all the way with a girl, not with anyone, and he got hard, suddenly and painfully, at the thought of climbing on Steve after all. He'd been too angry and confused before to feel it, but he felt it now, when Steve rolled his hips and Bucky could feel his johnson pressing against his cheek. 

"Christ," Steve murmured, seemingly to himself. "I shouldn't be doing this."

Not wanting him to stop, Bucky rubbed his face into Steve's crotch, earning him a loud moan that Steve silenced quickly. "Steve," he moaned, "Stevie, god—" He bit at the soft, worn fabric of Steve's underwear, tugging it gently.

Hissing sharply, Steve grabbed his underwear and pushed it down, and Bucky watched in fascination as his little cock sprang free, the waistband of Steve's skivvies sitting right under his balls so that they pushed out, purplish and twitching faintly. 

Bucky looked up, blinking slowly, and found Steve staring at him with his mouth hanging open and his eyes heavy like when he got sick with a fever. "Buck," he whispered. He was lost, pleading. 

Bucky poked out his tongue to stroke his bottom lip, and nodded. "C'mon, sport, you better gimme somethin'."

Chest heaving, Steve wrapped his hand around the back of Bucky's neck and pushed his cock up against Bucky's mouth, skimming over his cheek and bumping his nose. His skin was hot, just a little sticky, and Bucky wasn't sure where he oughta take this next when Steve grabbed his jaw and squeezed gently.

"It ain't like when you do for a girl," Steve said in a quiet, firm voice. It sent a shiver down Bucky's spine. He opened his mouth. "Attaboy."

Bucky closed his eyes when Steve's cock pushed against his parted lips. It was a little like kissing, the way it was so hot against his tongue, but then Steve's courage soared and he pushed in further, Bucky's mouth splitting for him like the red sea for Moses. 

Steve's fingers in his hair were trembling, and Bucky realized that his own hands had been hanging at his sides the whole time. He reached up to touch Steve's thighs, feeling the quiver of his muscles pulled tight, then he slipped them around to touch Steve's ass. Steve whined and jerked his hips forward, driving his cock against the roof of Bucky's mouth. 

Bucky gagged, using his grip to drag Steve away from him and spitting his cock out with a frown. 

Steve, to his surprise, didn't look annoyed. He frowned a little, and tucked a curl of hair behind Bucky's ear. "You really ain't done this before."

Bucky snorted. "And you have?" 

Steve's silence was deafening. 

"Well," Bucky fumbled.

"Shut up," Steve muttered. "You done or what?"

Bucky redirected his gaze to Steve's red little prick bobbing a few inches from his nose and smirked. "Not even close."

This time he rolled Steve up on his tongue without waiting to be pushed, but when Steve's hand came back to hold his head, Bucky leaned into it. He wasn't sure what he should be doing with his mouth, and it seemed like his tongue could work harder, but Steve was rocking his hips slow and regular, and that seemed to be doing plenty if the noises he was making were anything to go by.

After a minute, or maybe ten by the ache in Bucky's jaw, Steve shuddered suddenly and pulled out. Bucky was about to complain when Steve covered his mouth and neck in jism. 

"The heck?" Bucky sputtered, reaching up to wipe his face on his sleeve. "Dammit, Rogers!" 

Steve ignored him. While Bucky was still wiping at his face, Steve dropped to his knees, loud enough for them to crack against the floorboards, and grabbed Bucky's face in both hands. He started kissing and biting at Bucky's jaw and his chin, and when Bucky tried to protest, Steve covered his mouth with his own and kissed him messily. 

"Bucky," he gasped, breaking off to press kisses all over Bucky's cheeks. "God, Buck, you don't even _know_ —"

The affection was even more surprising than Steve pushing him over, or rubbing his prick over Bucky's face, and he found himself just holding onto Steve's thin shoulders and letting himself be kissed frantically and inexpertly. 

"Bucky?" Steve whispered at last. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No, idiot," Bucky said, finding a stupefied grin. "I just—I can't believe that happened."

Steve let his hands fall away. "I—oh, Christ," he muttered, pulling away suddenly. "I'm sorry, oh Christ, Bucky I'm sorry." His face miserable, he sank to the floor and wrapped his arms around himself. "Father Gilbert warned me this would happen."

Bucky just stared. "He _what_?"

Wincing, Steve looked away. "He said I ain't got no self control, and I'm gonna get myself and some nice young man into trouble." He glanced up at Bucky for a second, then away again. "I guess he got most of it right."

Scowling, Bucky crawled over to Steve and leaned over to kiss him. Steve was turned so that Bucky couldn't get his mouth, so he kissed him sweetly on the cheek instead. Steve closed his eyes. 

"Bucky—"

"He ain't got no right," Bucky growled, leaning in and kissing Steve's neck. Steve shuddered. 

Bucky crouched down and kissed Steve's hands where they lay in his lap, then his cock where it was softening against his belly, making Steve gasp and twitch. Then he lowered himself even further and kissed Steve's scabby knees, still healing from where he'd been pushed headfirst in the dirt the week before. 

"Bucky, this ain't right."

"This ain't right," Bucky mimicked in a silly, high pitched tone as he sat up again. Steve giggled reluctantly. "How about you leave the moralizing to someone better qualified, Rogers. Everyone on this street knows you're a troublemaker."

Steve winced. “Buck—”

“Don’t even start,” Bucky said, reaching out for Steve’s hand. He pressed it over his own crotch, suddenly brave now that Steve had licked his own jazz off Bucky’s face. “I like the kind of trouble you make, kiddo.”

“Aw, jeez,” Steve muttered, biting his lip. “The size of that thing, Bucky.” He caught Bucky’s eye and laughed nervously. “I always try not to notice, but it’s kinda hard when you’re twice the size of me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I am not,” he said but he puffed up anyway at the praise. 

“Dunno how you screw a dame with that thing,” Steve murmured, his attention all on Bucky’s cock now as he stroked it slowly, watching his own fingers move over it through Bucky’s clothes. “Dunno how you even fit it in your pants.”

Bucky’s face flushed hotter than a steam room. “I don’t—” He faltered. It wasn’t that he’d ever _told_ Steve—or anyone—that he’d gone all the way with a dame, but he’d let them think so. “I ain’t screwed a dame,” he said quietly. 

Steve snorted. “Fine, call it a dozen, whatever you like.”

“No,” Bucky whispered. “I ain’t done that with anyone.”

Steve looked up at him. “Oh.” His eyes softened, his mouth dropping open. “ _Oh_.” Steve kissed him again, loose and hungry, tasting of morning breath and the dark, chicory reek of their thick coffee. He slung one arm around the back of Bucky’s neck to pull him close, and with the other hand he started rubbing Bucky harder through his underwear, getting his fingers around Bucky’s cock in a loose grip. “Christ, you oughta be doin’ rounds,” Steve murmured, rubbing Bucky’s bottom lip between his teeth. “Take you from door to door, anyone who needs a good tumble—”

“The hell, Rogers?” Bucky gasped, reeling back from him. “Who taught you to say things like that?”

Steve laughed shyly. “The Devil himself, so I hear.”

“I can believe it,” Bucky murmured, wide-eyed, as Steve scrambled to get Bucky’s cock out of his underwear. “I thought you—what the Father said—”

“I guess the gates of Hell ain’t opened yet,” Steve murmured. "And I sure ain't got no self control, not when it comes to you." He tugged Bucky’s shorts down to his knees, and his eyes went wide and hungry. “Oh, _look_ at you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’ve seen it a hundred times.”

“I ain’t never touched it before,” Steve said in a reverent tone. “Not like _this_.”

“You ain’t hardly touching it now,” Bucky said, but it was all bravado. He already felt like he might go off any moment. If Steve decided to get his mouth on him, Bucky didn’t think he’d last ten seconds.

Steve frowned. “I ain’t putting that in my mouth,” he said, as if he could tell just what Bucky was thinking. “Got enough trouble breathin’ without you ramming that down my throat.”

Bucky was about to protest that he wasn’t gonna go ramming anything anywhere, when Steve wrapped both hands around his cock and squeezed gently. “Oh—f— _fuck_ ,” Bucky gasped.

Steve smirked at him. “ _Language._ ”

“Shove _that_ where the sun don’t shine, Rogers,” Bucky moaned, twitching his hips towards Steve. 

Steve didn’t answer, his attention all focused on Bucky’s lap and his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth the same way as when he worked in his sketchbook. 

"So there really wasn't a girl?" Steve asked at last, just as Bucky was teetering on the edge of orgasm. 

"What?" Bucky murmured, opening his eyes to glare. "What girl?"

"Last night," Steve pressed, before lifting one hand to lick his palm and then cupping it over the head of Bucky's cock. 

Bucky whimpered and covered his face with his hands as he felt himself start to tumble over the edge. Steve worked him through it gently, letting the slick of Bucky's orgasm slip between his fingers and continuing to stroke him even after he was oversensitive and twitching. 

"Stevie," Bucky gasped. "Steve, stop, I'm done—"

You sure?" Steve whispered in a filthy voice. "I reckon you've got another in you. It's big enough for two rounds."

"No, no," Bucky gasped, as Steve kept on stroking him, his palms turning tacky, catching on the hot, raw skin. "Steve," he moaned, trying to wriggle away. "Please—"

Steve let go of him at last, and Bucky fell back onto his ass again. He blinked his eyes open slowly, and winced when he realized they were watering. Steve pretended not to notice. 

"Maybe a date with you wouldn't be so bad," Steve said, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt of effort. He walked back to the table and picked up his cigarettes. "But I ain't easy, Barnes."

Bucky looked up at him, laughing softly. “That wasn't—exactly what I had planned,” he said in a shaky voice. Steve raised his eyebrow, and Bucky grinned. “I was thinking maybe a movie first.”

Steve struck a match and lit the cigarette. “I ain’t your girl, Barnes,” he said, blowing out a thin stream of menthol smoke. "But if you wanna do that again sometime, I might be interested.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please [reblog on tumblr](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/119969002690/sin-with-your-mouth-shut-notallbees-captain) if this was your jam! :D


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